PREVIOUSLY: PART THREE

I knew she would put up some resistance to sex once in my place, but I had no idea it would be so intense. We kissed in my kitchen but she refused to let me take off her shirt and also declined to lay on my bed. I made her a strong vodka but she held her liquor.

After an hour of standing in the kitchen without getting any of her clothes off, I knew I’d have to be more methodical about how I was going to get this bang. I decided to hit her with a three-pronged resistance buster strategy.

There are many ways for human beings to learn something. Some are auditory learners, some are visual learners, and some are experience-based learners. When it comes to breaking down resistance, some girls succumb to emotion, some logic, and some to never-ending persistence. I decided to hit her with all three.

The logic part of the program was selling a sexual opportunity that she doesn’t normally have, specifically in sleeping with an American guy, something I had initially brought up in the bar. I spelled out the uniqueness of our encounter then asked, “Do you want to have sex right now?” I hit her with this many times to get live feedback on my progress. At first her answer was “I want to but I won’t,” but later it changed to “I want to but I shouldn’t.”

The emotional part was kissing her passionately, complimenting the unique things about her, and hinting towards a future together.

The persistence part was repeatedly trying moves that I knew she would say no to. It wasn’t elegant, but I knew that some girls want to succumb to a strong man.

The key moment came when I went to lay in bed, genuinely tired. I said she wasn’t allowed to lay down with her jeans. She thought I was joking and tried to hop in anyway, but I didn’t let her. I told her that’s my rule, but she was stubborn and refused to take them off. There was a standoff. At the moment the air in the room started getting uncomfortable, I said, “How about we compromise. You can wear my shorts.” It was a reasonable request and allowed her to save face by not accepting a man’s demands, something that Scandinavian women don’t like doing. But for me I knew it was a victory because my shorts were so big for her that they would offer no challenge to remove.

She came into bed and I wrapped my body around hers. It didn’t take more than ten minutes of just minor pressure for her to ask me if I had a condom. I put on the condom and captured my Finnish flag. As it turned out, she was on her period.

 —

In the morning Laurna watched me eat peanut butter sandwiches before leaving. I got her number and honestly wanted to see her again. She was a feminine girl with a great body—what more could I ask for? Even after napping and drinking coffee, by nightfall I had absolutely no energy. When I stepped out the door past 1am, all I wanted to do was return back home, but I was greedy and wanted to get three bangs in one week. I often read stories about guys getting three or four bangs in a matter of a couple days, but I had no idea where they got the energy to do that. After two bangs I just wanted to lay down and sleep forever.

Back at Millionaire I tried my best, but could only manage to do two approaches in zombie fashion. Even though I only busted three nuts in the past three days, the last thing on my mind was sex. A girl would’ve had to throw herself at me for that to happen, and since that didn’t go down I went home and crashed.

I felt more energized on Saturday and did a little coffee shop tour where I people watched. I was surprised by Finland and its women. I had heard bad things about how hyper-masculine they were, and while that was true compared to Eastern European women, there were still quite a few feminine beauties around. Finland offered a small but substantial selection of cute girls who spoke English, liked to drink, and had little hangups about hooking up. Maybe I liked it because I had just come from Ukraine where the girls didn’t drink much, didn’t speak English, and saw every guy as a potential bridge to a better life instead of a fun romp in the sack.

That night I went back to Millionaire for the last time. I had been in the city for less than a week and already felt like a hack by going to the same bar so much. I noticed a blackjack table and decided to try my luck even though they broke international rules by taking your money on a push. A couple of girls gravitated near me and I chatted them up while I played. After losing 10 euros, I got up feeling ready for more action. I started approaching and really did give it my all, but I would have no luck on this night.

I eventually met up with Jon and we hit the streets for some good old street game. We met two girls who he had briefly talked to at another club. One was half-Asian and the other was a blonde Finnish girl who looked Swedish. They were both 19. We rolled an afterparty and brought them to my cramped studio apartment. The problem was that they refused to drink. They were celebrating a graduation party since the afternoon and were sobering up. I did everything to ply them with alcohol besides forcing it down their gullets, but all we could manage was a lame 4-way conversation.

Jon tried to isolate the Asian girl by asking her if she wanted to grab a quick bite to eat at the McDonalds down the street, but she declined. They absolutely were not separating, and there was no dancing to hip hop like with the Thai girls. It came out that the blonde had a boyfriend and was supposed to meet up with him shortly. Thanks for wasting our time.

I fell asleep slightly disappointed. I went out five nights in a row, got laid on two of them, but felt like I had somehow failed.

 —

For my last night I had made plans with Laurna. She researched places to hang out and replied to my texts promptly using full sentences and proper punctuation. She texted me before the date to apologize that she was going to be “8 minutes late.” She later said she was joking, but she was exactly eight minutes late.

Even after spending four months in Denmark and Iceland, it was the first time I went on a date with a Scandinavian girl I banged. Over a bottle of champagne, we had a nice chat about travel and cultural differences between Americans and Scandinavians. She busted my balls a couple times, her default strategy of being “just one of the guys,” but my lack of witty comebacks to them, or even acknowledgement, made her start appearing like an aggressive man. Once she realized I’m not like Finnish guys, she eased into a more feminine role, free of the debate vibe that is boner kryptonite.

We went back to my apartment and I cooked a small meal. She was more comfortable with the sex this time around since she wasn’t bleeding. She said, “I could get used to this.” Maybe I could’ve too. I didn’t think Finland was supposed to have girls I’d like, but here was one. I’m sure if I stayed longer and increased my sample size, I would find masculine girls that would sour that image and even out the bell curve, but if you told me then that I had to stay for two months in Helsinki during the summer, I wouldn’t object. It’s cosmopolitan enough that if I got tired of the Finnish girls I could try for some other flags.

The next morning there were no tears goodbye, but it was a touch melancholy. She told me to visit again and I told her I’d consider it. Upon leaving for Sweden, I had warmer feelings about Finland than Ukraine or Latvia, something I didn’t expect. Until I stop wanting easy sex, the Finlands of the world will remain on my radar.

PREVIOUSLY: PART TWO

The next day I was low on gas. My 32-year-old body was done after just two nights of partying, but I bought a couple cans of Red Bull and used that for fuel. During the day I managed a couple of approaches, but my heart wasn’t into it. Since I found a night spot that I knew I could get laid from, day game was no longer on the table. It would be better to conserve my energy.

The previous two nights I was out the door by 11:30, but on this night I was dragging. I didn’t leave until 12:30. I went back to the Millionaire Club.

I expected it to be more crowded than Tuesday and especially Wednesday, but it was nearly dead except for two girls at the bar. I approached the one nearest me and it turned out that she was Russian-born but moved to Finland when she was young, sort of like the Iranian girl. She was friendly and smiley, not at all stoic like I would’ve expected. She had a bit of Finnish flair with a colorful dress and gigantic red flower in her hair, but still retained the Russian sexiness.

She was touching me almost immediately, so I was debating whether to throw the Finnish flag under the bus yet again for a flag that I’ve had previous trouble capturing. The fact that I didn’t have my Russian flag after living in Washington DC, home to a huge Russian population, was embarrassing to me, but if I pursued her I would only have two nights left to smash something Finnish. With Millionaire providing so many opportunities, and the weekend yet to arrive, I believed I could take the risk. I wanted to try for three flags in one week.

The approach hit a snag because of her fat friend. She kept interrupting and wouldn’t shut up. Without a wingman (Jon was at a club down the street), I had to simultaneously entertain fattie while gaming my chick. The task wasn’t made any easier with the fattie trying to call me out: “It’s weird that you are alone” and “You should lose the beard, most girls don’t like it.”

I had a million comebacks to use but since I wanted to get laid I replied with witty niceties instead of telling her that a morbidly obese girl doesn’t have a right to criticize anyone. I looked around the club for a guy rolling solo like me so I could pin him on the fat girl, but there was nothing available.

The Russian girl then asked me if I wanted to go outside and smoke. And continue the three-way conversation with fattitude? I passed, safe in the knowledge that she would return back to me, especially since our faces got so close that we almost kissed. There weren’t many other guys around so I felt safe. I let them go smoke, saying that I was going to get a drink instead.

Twenty minutes later I notice them in another part of the bar. The Russian girl was not looking my way. Then three guys approached them, one of them eagerly going for the fattie. By not going out for a smoke, I fucked myself, even though just a couple months prior in Lithuania I had explicitly learned to go for a smoke with girls to keep the interaction going. There were no other girls to approach.

I comforted myself in thinking that the dude she was talking to had weak game, but I couldn’t exactly just go up to the new group of five. Of course the fattie was no longer cockblocking because she was getting attention. I had no choice but to let that scenario play out, since I wasn’t in a position to barge in and grab her away like she was my girlfriend. I decided to walk to Onnela, a club nearby that Jon texted me to say had girls.

The club wasn’t all bad but it was half empty and there weren’t many good opportunities. Jon was grinding on a Finnish-Indian girl. I did two approaches, got absolutely nowhere, then went outside. It was now 2:30, with only one hour left until the bars closed. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally, but I knew I had to soldier on. I walked back to Millionaire.

I was horrified to see the Russian girl grinding on the dude. I’m talking about a hands-on-the-floor, bent over, booty clapping kind of grind that left no doubt where that interaction was going. Apparently I had made a huge tactical error in assuming she would return, an error I seem to repeat. I was pissed because I like to think that I’m at the level where I don’t make such a nuclear mistake, but there she was, about to make out with this dude. I should have made that fat bitch at least earn the cockblock instead of withdrawing from the interaction voluntarily.

One of the hardest parts of being a player is controlling your state in the face of disappointment. If I let a situation like that put me in a sour mood, I wouldn’t be able to have the right energy to game other girls. For five minutes I talked to myself, saying that the mistake was already done and there was nothing more I could. The pain settled down enough to where I could calmly approach a blonde girl I saw looking around. She didn’t indulge my attempt so I approached her nearby black-haired friend. The reason I knew I could also approach her was because my opener on the blonde was so indirect that no martian spectator could conclude I was hitting on her. I was just a friendly guy.

Laurna had a shy personality type, not so conducive for one-night stands. I’d have to use a jackhammer to pry her out of that because a phone number alone would be useless to me. The first thing I did was buy her a shot. Then, to get the conversation off boring chit-chat that she was comfortable with, I tried to steer it to the personal. I asked, “Do you like American men, around 32 years of age, who are hairy and have beards?” She laughed and we ended up talking about our ideal types.

Then I asked when was the last time she had sex (“long time ago”). I asked her if she had made love to an American man before (“no”) and joked that if she’s lucky, she may have that opportunity. It was a risk talking about sex so much, but with little time before the bar closed, I felt like I had no other choice but to be blatantly sexual.

Finally, the last song of the night came on, a romantic R&B number. “Do you want to make slow dance with me?” I asked, in those exact words.

“Yes I do.”

And it’s there we kissed, just as the lights came on, as if right on schedule.

“Do you want to come to my apartment and have a drink with me?” I asked.

“Are you staying in a hotel?”

“No, a private apartment next to the Kampii metro station.”

She paused, a typical response by girls who don’t want to seem easy. I took that as my cue. I said, “But I’m not expecting sex. We’re just going to have a drink and if you want to leave after half an hour that’s fine, but I think it would be fun if we continued the night to talk and maybe kiss a bit more.”

“Okay, but no sex,” she said.

“Of course not,” I smiled.

Now it was time to play the cockblock slalom. She mentioned earlier that she was supposed to share a ride home with her blonde friend, and now there were two Colombian friends of hers tagging along, including a flamer who kept giving me shit for not looking like I was American. In front of the club I passed the test from the Colombian by dropping some American slang. He yelled, “You sound like you’re from New York!” He said that he suspects I’m a sneaky guy, but eventually left with his Colombian lady friend, leaving me with my girl and the blonde. Two down, one to go.

I walked in suspense with them to the taxi stand, with no idea if my girl was coming with me or not. I kept silent while they talked in Finnish. Once there, the blonde got into a cab, closed the door, and left, leaving me and Laurna outside.

CONTINUED: PART FOUR

PREVIOUSLY: PART ONE

When the Iranian girl went to dance with her friends, I approached a cute girl who turned out to be American. She gave me the meanest face as I went through my opening line. It looked like she was utterly disgusted with me and couldn’t wait to update her Facebook status about how a big loser just hit on her. We talked for a quick minute about where we were from and then she walked away. I didn’t neg her or say anything rude. I hadn’t approached an American girl in 17 months so I forget how they could be unnecessarily bitchy. When she was back with her friends, I overheard her tell them, “I don’t know, like, what I got from that conversation.”

A second later an Asian guy tapped me on the shoulder. “Excuse me, are you Roosh?”

I like to think my ego is pretty low, but I always get a kick out of getting recognized in a different country. Now I can add Finland to the existing list: Brazil, Argentina, Poland, Estonia, Latvia, and the USA. While most people who recognize me have known about my work for some time, Jon only stumbled on my blog two weeks prior when looking for advice on nailing Polish girls.

When I’m on a flag mission, I prefer to roll solo. It’s rare that any other guy will have the identical mission that I have, so it’s best to work independently until getting my flag. Only then can I be more social and interact with other men. While Jon definitely wanted to get laid, I knew he wasn’t as singularly focused as I was after he complained about the music. The type of music doesn’t even register on my radar when flag hunting. They can play bluegrass for all I care as long as there are receptive girls. We talked for a bit and exchanged data on what we had experienced in Helsinki so far.

The Iranian came back. She was pretty drunk at that point so I figured she was so horny that she didn’t care if I was breaking Jante Law. I shut my mouth and let her talk while I nodded and touched. Then I nodded and touched some more. It didn’t take long for us to kiss. Jon probably thought I was the best player in the world for kissing her so fast, not knowing that I talked to her earlier. The kissing was more sensual than I would have expected and my boner achieved full mast.

“We’re not having sex tonight,” she said. “I’m on my period.”

“I don’t care, I’ll drink the blood,” I replied. She smiled. I think that made me seem more egalitarian.

There was a time when a bleeding vagina would kill the notch, but I’ve long since stopped caring. Now I let the girl know that I’m an old man who doesn’t get bothered by a little (or a lot) of blood, that I have a towel and we shouldn’t let some normal human biological function get in the way of fun sex. She left for her friends again but it was on better terms. She kept looking back at me. For good measure I casually flirted with another girl so she’d get jealous.

The lights came on. I bumped into the Iranian and said, “Did you meet a guy cooler than me?”

“No,” she said.

“Do you want to have a drink at my place?” One of her friends already left with a guy. I would usually have to say a few extra routines to an Eastern European girl to get her to agree, along with a monologue meant to broadcast I’m not a serial rapist, but it wasn’t necessary in this case.

“Where do you live?” she asked.

“I live next to the Kampii station.”

“Wow that’s close,” she said. I passed the logistics part of the game. The next step was to try to convince her remaining friend that I would “take care” of her, but even that wasn’t necessary. She simply told her friend “We’re going this way, bye” and that was that. It was the coldest goodbye to a girlfriend that I had seen.

Before I go to any city, I geolocate the most popular clubs on a map. Then I seek out lodgings that are within walking distance of those clubs. While I found places in Helsinki that were $30 a night cheaper than my apartment, they were over a mile away. My place was about half a mile from the action. I find that no girl objects to a mere ten minute walk, even in heels.

Once in my place, she wanted to get right down to business. No foreplay. I put down a towel, got her naked, put on a condom, and started going to town. Because she said she liked being dominant, I was a little worried she’d whip out a strap-on dildo and try to fuck me in the ass, or at least diddle my anus, but she was one of the most submissive girls I’ve ever had in bed. She told me to pull her hair harder even though physically I was pulling as hard as I possibly could. I had her neck all the back and she was yelling for me to give her more violence. I rode her like an old mule and she loved it. After I came I felt like I just got off a roller coaster, but with blood.

In the morning she got dressed and went straight to the door. I made a move to get up and she said, “You don’t have to get up, goodbye.” She left and I never saw her again.

 —

I went to a new bar where I met up with Jon. We both agreed that there were a lot of girls, but the logistics were all fucked up: the music was loud and the girls were seated within large groups of friends. We went to a college bar nearby where there were three guys for every girl. When time is of the essence, you have to make mission critical decisions on whether you can get laid or not from a venue. A phone number or even make-out is not enough.

The choice was made to return to Millionaire Club. It was half as full as the night before, but the girls were more accessible than in the other venues. It’s not always the quantity of girls available in a venue, but if you are able to spit game on them. Jon disagreed. He left me behind and went back to the first bar.

I did my approaches and eventually made out with a girl who had broad swimmer shoulders, but I couldn’t isolate her. I approached another girl when the lights came in and it seemed to be going well, but she eventually told me she had a boyfriend.

On my walk home Jon messaged me to say he had a “Thai buffet” and to come to his hotel room. He met three Thai girls and they were having a little afterparty. I didn’t yet have a Thai flag, so I hauled ass over there.

Jon was working on the cutest girl, but the second-cutest was not too bad, about a 6 with a typical petite Thai body. The third girl was a total beast. The girls were dancing in the room but Jon didn’t attempt to isolate his girl. I was unable to exchange more than a few sentences with mine. The girls left, and I apologized to Jon in case I fucked up his game. He said it was all good, which keyed me in that he was a generous guy who put bros before hoes.

After the girls left, Jon showed me some pictures of girls he banged from Thailand, Singapore, Indonesia, and Japan. His conquests appeared less Asian that I would have guessed—they had a half-white look. He told me how they are thin, feminine, have great attitudes, and take care of their men. As a white man he said I shouldn’t find it too hard, but that I would have to shave my beard. I never had a natural attraction for Asian girls, but his selection was respectable. I feel like I’m at the point where I have to go to Asia not just for myself but for my readership, as if it’s my destiny.

The one thing I’ve always loved about travel is how visiting one country can open the door to others you never thought of, changing your entire life in the process. When I was in Brazil, I met a Danish guy who caused me to visit Denmark for two months. In Denmark I met an Estonian girl who caused me to visit Estonia. In Estonia I learned a lot of about Finland (only a short ferry ride away), causing me to visit Helsinki even after my bad Scandinavian experience in Denmark. And now in Finland I was meeting a guy who made a very strong case for Asia. If you were to make a list of ten countries you want to visit right now, it will completely change only one or two countries into your trip.

If it was any other Wednesday night, I would have considered it interesting and moderately successful, but for a Finnish flag mission the night was a failure. I had three nights left.

CONTINUED: PART THREE

I can’t say I missed Ukraine. What should have been poosy paradise was pure labor. It had the first species of women I met who were both transactional and extractive, where the best type of game to run is based on a college economics course. The city I lived in, Kharkov, was dirty, unsightly, and poorly planned. The nightlife was lacking, English wasn’t common, and it wasn’t as cheap as I was led to believe. People were rude and grumpy, and towards the end of my stay even I became agitated at the smallest things. I did end up dating a great girl, but it’s not a place that I look forward to going back to.

Instead of listening to many men who suggested I hit the Mediterranean for the summer, I decided on returning to Scandinavia. I was still bitter from my two crappy months in Denmark a year prior and wanted to see if I could improve that experience with what I had since learned. I also wanted to get the Scandinavia flag sweep, which meant I’d have to bang girls from Finland, Sweden, and Norway. I decided to stay in Helsinki for a week before deciding what to do.

On my first day in Helsinki flying in from Ukraine, I felt a huge drop in femininity units. There were so many overweight women wearing hipster outfits waiting in line at McDonalds that I was expecting a camera crew led by my friends to appear from a corner. While the style wasn’t as bad or gay as what Hel-looks broadcasts to the world, there were no more girls wearing 5 inch heels during the day along with sexy outfits. It was time to adapt.

The level of beauty, however, was surprising. Perhaps thanks to influence from Russia and the Baltics, I noticed many cute girls right off the bat. By comparison, in Denmark it took three full days just to find one decent-looking girl I wanted to approach.

I planned on only a one week visit. Since I was familiar with the region, I figured I could capture my flag quickly instead of staying for the normal two month allotment that I usually set for flagging and travel guide research. In Poland I did “city flags” where I took a trip to another city from my home base in Poznan to see if I could get a weekend bang, but that was much easier than what I was attempting in Finland.

Even on a two month stay the pressure to get a flag is strong, but with only one week it was an all-consuming obsession. I was ready to do whatever it took to sleep with a Finnish girl.

—

On my first night out, a Sunday, I found a club called Tiger that had mostly foreigners. I waited patiently in line and then entered what I can best describe as the Jersey Shore of Europe. Every bad club stereotype was in effect: Ed Hardy shirts, sunglasses, fist pumping, and hoisting bottles of vodka in the air. The cheesiest dudes in Europe were all gathered in one place for an epic sausage party with girls who were cockblocking at will.

I did one approach, got nowhere, then went home. The next day I got on myself for not enduring a bit more, but it was a Sunday, and who gets laid on Sundays? I took it easy on Monday night, which I knew would be dead, and got myself ready for the big surge starting on Tuesday.

My mission began in earnest with day approaches, but I was rusty as hell. In Ukraine I probably did less than forty day approaches overall, most of them in my first month. I gave up mostly because of how painful the interactions went—either the girls didn’t speak English or spoke a tiny amount. In Helsinki I aimlessly walked around the center and did a few approaches that progressively improved as I warmed up.

When I taught day game workshops in Washington DC, some girls would bust out their smartphone to help my students find a “pet shop,” especially the foreign ones. This is what Finnish girls were doing to me. The only problem was that they weren’t asking me questions. My “Where I’m from” bait was getting nothing. In the Baltics it was more or less automatic. Finland started to remind me of Iceland, where the girls were polite but not engaging. After about ten approaches over two days, my ramble was back on point, but I had no solid prospects to show for it.

Tuesday night was my first real night out. I went to Millionaire’s Club, a venue that was highly recommended on the forum. I immediately saw why: it had a large bar separated from the dance floor. It’s one of those places where you can approach a girl by the bar and then move her to the dance floor to get more intimate.

Within twenty minutes of milling around, a  Middle Eastern girl randomly asked me where I was from.

“U.S. And you?”

“My parents are Iranian.”

“Oh cool, my dad is,” I said.

“What’s your name?”

“My birth name? It’s Daryush.”

“That’s a very common Persian name!”

“I know, and you say it better than I do.”

“Why are you in Finland?” she asked.

“Sex and drugs. Why else?”

I had tossed my “sex and drugs” overboard in Ukraine because the girls were unable to pick up on sarcasm, but the Persian girl got it and laughed. I had decided that I didn’t want to live in a country where I couldn’t use that line.

“Where were you born?” I asked.

“Iran.”

I was torn. She wasn’t a Finnish flag, but I didn’t yet have an Iranian flag. It would go nicely with my United Arab Emirates flag. Should I go for the Iranian flag at risk of jeopardizing my Finnish flag mission?

Iranian girls are not exactly known for being easy, but when she told me that she was living in Finland for ten years, I knew that she had internalized the Scandinavian attitude towards casual sex. I didn’t need to look further for confirmation than her two blond friends, who were taking shots and flirting with nearly every guy in the bar. One came up to me and stroked my beard, making comments about how I could further my look. I started doing a cost-benefit analysis in my head, wondering if I could pull off two flags in one week.

The Iranian girl became aggressive, almost like a man. She actually slapped me a couple times, hard enough that I felt it, but in a way that she could say was “flirting.” Since she wasn’t Finnish, my guess is that she had to prove to her friends that she could fit into the group by going harder than the both of them, sort of like how a white guy with black thug friends does crazy shit to prove he’s as hard as them. I was more bewildered by her slaps than anything, and it took three of them for me to finally say, “Don’t do that again.” She obeyed.

I was excited to be talking to someone with a strong command of English. I defaulted into being chatty, but it didn’t take long to offend her when I said “I like girls with long hair.”

“So you discriminate against women?”

“Discriminate? It’s just a personal preference. Do you like guys taller or shorter than you?”

“Taller, but I give shorter guys a chance.”

“How many guys shorter than you have you seriously dated?”

“None.”

“Okay then, it’s the same thing.”

“Not really because a girl who is bald could be an amazing person inside.”

“So if I was 200 kilos heavier, shorter, and bald, you would still talk to me?”

“Probably not,” she said.

I flipped my hand upside down as if to say “Well there you have it” but she refused to back down and insisted that liking girls with long hair was horrible. I was talking to a hyper-educated woman who spent god knows how many years in school, but accepting simple logic was still a work in progress. I knew she wouldn’t see my point of view, but the debater in me wouldn’t yield.

“Have you ever seen those commercials for African charities?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“When they show images of the starving African children, have you noticed that they are always bald? It’s not because they go to the barber every week—it’s because when you don’t have enough protein in your diet, you don’t grow hair. Therefore hair is a sign of fitness, of health. When a girl has short hair, she’s mimicking a state of malnourishment.”

The science quieted her down, but she soon threw out a comment I couldn’t ignore. She said, “I like to be dominant over men.”

“That’s too bad because I would never let a girl dominate me. It’s not natural.”

One minute later she said, “I’m going to talk to my friends.” I had a girl who was into me but I destroyed it by trying to teach her lessons. I realized that the conversation I just had might as well have happened in Denmark, where I kept challenging girls about their stupid beliefs and got nothing out of it except a hater book that caused outrage throughout the country.

I remembered my “nodding strategy” when a Scandinavian girl would tell me crazy shit. The secret was to let them talk, not challenge their beliefs, and be pleasant while escalating the encounter to intimacy. I decided to listen to my own advice.

CONTINUED: PART TWO